Monday, 4 August 1879

I could not fall asleep. I kept seeing before my eyes that poor little foolish dog, who had run away frightened by the concierge and did not know where to go.
I even deigned to shed a few tears, after which I prayed God to let me find him again. I have a special prayer that I say quietly to myself when I fear some trouble or when I am asking for something. I cannot remember ever saying it without feeling relief. This morning I was woken with the news that the dog had been brought back. And the wretch was so hungry that he did not make overmuch demonstration of his joy.
I had given him up for lost, and my family kept repeating that he had been killed, to set my mind at rest. Maman cries that it is a true miracle, for we have never recovered a lost dog; she would cry it still louder if I told her — but I say it only here, and even then I am displeased with myself: there are thoughts and prayers so intimate that to speak or write them one seems foolish and clumsy.
I sent for Berthe and we walked the rue de la Paix, the elegant boulevards and the Champs-Élysées, going into shops, stopping at windows, and passing before the Cercle Impérial where my violets produce a beneficial effect.
Berthe is in a [coloured] linen dress and less chic than I, all in black and truly elegant.
I was hoping to meet someone interesting — not to see, but to be seen.
My family went to the waterfall to meet the Gavinis. I saw them Sunday — there was the Marquis de Las Cases, the dismissed one; Chaudordy, Madame Araujo and Géry.
Géry has told me that Plonplon adores iced coffee, which is why I drank it all evening in front of Blanc — who came to dine (Sunday) — and to whom I described at length the "grand personage" I adore, whom I imitate, etc. etc. He was dying to know who, but I change every hour. The other day I spoke to him of a young Republican; and this evening, after the "very grand personage," of Clémenceau — while insulting Prince Jérôme. At least that way, if I should happen to tell the truth one day, no one will believe it and no one will know what to make of it. But I think he suspected the young Republican, for he announced to me that the Hungarian woman was going to marry young Arnaud de l'Ariège, who has fourteen millions — to which I replied that if that brat had such a fancy, Madame Arnaud de l'Ariège would give him fifty strokes of the rod, Monsieur Gambetta would pull his ears, and Father Grévy would throw him in a dungeon on bread and water for two months.
Berthe has just left — she came to thank me on behalf of her vile husband, for whom we bought two neckties between us. I have felt sympathy for her these past few days.
I detest going out with my family; besides, the studio deprives me of these promenades — so I shall enjoy them until the departure, which will doubtless take place Thursday. I have not taken a canvas at the studio; I walk, I dress, I think of Cassagnac.